


Practical Revolution

by Snarkoleptic



Series: Of Mages and Kings [6]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:59:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkoleptic/pseuds/Snarkoleptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danica Amell and Alistair consider the consequences of a royal engagement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practical Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> There's a nest of hornets in the court! Let's poke it with a stick!  
> 
> 
> * * *

"I was right!" Danica cheers as soon as the door to the royal chambers closes behind her, giving a moment's thought that until now she hadn't thought of this space as _hers_. "Eamon was _livid_!"

"If I were a lesser man, my love, I might be wounded that your good mood stems more from getting under his skin than from the public declaration of your intent to wed me." Alistair steals a kiss to restore his pride before moving into the bedchamber and sitting in the one chair the castle has to offer that he finds comfortable.

"Lucky for me, then." She thinks if he were a lesser man, he wouldn't have been half so sincere in his determination to outplay the politicians they'd both known would object to the union. "Of course, we _did_ just have the singular pleasure of sitting through one of those hideously long court dinners, obligated as we were after such an announcement, and we got to watch him squirm the entire time. If I were a better woman, I might not look for opportunities to shift that stick in his arse."

Alistair laughs at her mention of the stick she's so fond of imagining. He thinks if she were a better woman, she wouldn't be half so sincere in her desire to confound the man she hated for no other reason than the way he'd chosen to raise a child. "Alfstanna did raise a good point over dessert, though. The Circle won't be happy to hear you won't be returning for your yearly visit, which would have been coming up shortly, and _someone_ is going to see the Grand Cleric hears about this sooner than later."

"Can't wait for that," Danica smiles as she speaks, taking the chair next to her betrothed. "Wonder how many are taking bets on how early in the morning she'll show up. I'm only surprised no one commented on the recitation of my noble connections, even if I did hate hearing my pedigree called out as if I were some prize bitch."

"You're _my_ prize bitch, my dear. That'll keep more than a few mouths closed on its own." Alistair leans away in case she's tempted to respond to his jest with a smack.

Danica looks at him for a moment, in equal parts amused by the joke and amazed that she'd actually heard him almost-curse. "Think you can keep a straight face with the Grand Cleric when she asks you tomorrow how magic serves you?"

He blushes, as she had known he would, and she hopes for the thousandth time that his life never breaks that core of utter innocence. And still, she thinks, for someone so seemingly unwise to the ways of the world, he had been incredibly thorough and even devious through the winter, planning for consequences and reactions to news of their engagement. She hadn't been surprised that he'd asked her to learn the more physical arts her staff might afford her, and found the lessons to be immensely enjoyable. They'd both been aware that naming her as betrothed to a King would make her a target for some, and any advantage she could gain would be well worth the time.

She had also expected the attendant, and the etiquette lessons, and even the perpetual disapproval of that crusty old bat Hilda. She couldn't say she wasn't learning from the woman, but the bitch never gave an inch. Although she had turned enough interesting colors Danica had almost summoned a healer, after she countered an admonishment earlier in the week by questioning where a lady _can_ break wind if not in her own dressing room.

It wasn't even as if she'd actually _done_ it.

But what had amazed her more than anything was Alistair's quiet recitation of the benefits that other mages might eventually see. He had told her that if the King, the ruler of their nation, was willing to have one at his side, perhaps enough influence could be gained to change a thing or two about the Circle as it was. It wouldn't be quick, but he didn't like thinking of others picking up stories such as she had told to him during her darker nights. She had resolved, then, to remember his ambitions in that area if she ever found herself with reason to doubt how he felt.

The engagement will be lengthy, she is sure of it. It will take time to convince the Chantry to settle itself once the news hits. It will take time to convince the Circle to settle itself once they receive their letter. And it will take longer still for her to learn what she needs to know in order to be married to a king without making a complete arse of herself.

But Alistair had handled the court well. There wouldn't be a civil war over the fear of an almighty witch queen, so they could rest easy and enjoy the road to come.

As she slides into bed beside him and the room darkens under his sharp breath over the candle, she decides she is lucky, at that. She's attached herself to a man with more causes than he can count, out to improve the lot of the kingdom he serves, who would add the mages to his list just because he knows her so well.

Shifting onto her side before he can wish her good night, she ignites a spark into the darkness. She _had_ offered, after all.


End file.
